


Day 25

by problematiquefave



Series: Kinktober 2018 [25]
Category: Fear the Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Angst, Boot Worship, Dom/sub Undertones, Kinktober, M/M, No Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-26
Updated: 2018-10-26
Packaged: 2019-08-07 16:15:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16411763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/problematiquefave/pseuds/problematiquefave
Summary: The ranch and the horde are behind them but it will never be forgotten.





	Day 25

“Stop the car.”

Troy glances over at him, brow furrowing with confusion. Nick doesn’t look at him though. His eyes are on the road in front of him, dusted in sand, literal tumbleweeds in the distance. His nails dig into the arm rest and his teeth clench. Echoing in his ears are snarls and screams, a herd of predators and a ranch full of sheep. Gunshots ring out. _Fuck_.

“Stop the fucking car!”

Troy jerks, breaks screeching in protest as he slams his foot against them. Nick stumbles out of the car as soon as it stops, sucking air into his lungs like a man who just escaped drowning. Maybe he did but he wasn’t drowning in water. He was drowning in shame and grief and anger. People are dead. _Good_ people, _innocent_ people. And as he looks up, his eyes meet those of the man responsible.

Nick straightens up. Anger – _righteous fury_ – sprouts up from his very core. “You did this!” he shouts, ignoring the way Troy’s eyes widen as he flinches. “This is your fault! Your brother is dead! Those people – _your people_ – are dead! Alicia almost died! And you don’t feel a shred of remorse, do you?”

He doesn’t answer. The ground crunches beneath Nick’s boots as he stalks towards him but Troy doesn’t answer – doesn’t apologize, doesn’t justify himself, doesn’t even move. Nick’s hand twitches, the urge to hit him overwhelming, and he briefly wonders if that’s how his mother used to feel when he was failing all of her expectations _again_.

That makes him stop. He’s still angry but that _violence_ – red-hot and all-consuming – dissipates. He’s not his mother. He’s not Jeremiah. He’s definitely not Tracey Otto. He isn’t going to hit Troy because he misbehaved, because he disappointed and Nick was forced to cover for him _again_. He hadn’t even _had_ to cover for him; that was his choice and maybe it was the wrong but it was the one he made. He has to live with that, live with _Troy_.

But that doesn’t mean he can’t still be angry. He is and Troy, ever watchful, recognizes both of those things – the lack of violence and the remaining anger. He’s careful when he speaks, having learned how to handle a loaded gun when he was a child.

“I was tired and not my right mind. What happened was—”

“Don’t. I don’t…” Nick trailed off with a frustrated sigh. “If you’re not going to say ‘what I did was wrong and I will spend the rest of my life atoning for it,’ then I don’t want to hear it. I don’t care.”

“Do you want to me say that?” he asks.

Nick almost laughs but he’s too bitter, too angry, too hurt to muster it. “No, I want you to _mean it_ ,” he says, “but I know you won’t – or maybe you can’t – so don’t even bother.”

“Then what do you want me to do?” Troy’s eyes are wide and almost pleading. Maybe they are but Nick doesn’t want to feel sorry for him. Not right now. He doesn’t want to answer Troy’s question either so he throws out the first thing that comes to mind.

“I want you to lick my boot.”

It doesn’t elicit a laugh from Troy as he’d expected. All the older man does is raise his eyebrows, tilting his head to the side. Then, he asks a question that sends blood rushing to his face. “Do you really want that?”

Images flash through Nick’s mind – too quickly to hold onto but long enough to leave an impression. A thought. Of Troy on his knees, his face pressed to the ground. Submitting. Lowering himself. It leaves him with one word in his mind: _fuck_. But there’s another one on his tongue, soft and whispered.

“Yes.”

Troy doesn’t clarify. He doesn’t flinch or look away. His look is almost unnerving as he lowers himself to one knee and then the other. Nick swallows. Air is suddenly hard to get into his lungs as he watches, waiting until Troy lowers himself that last bit, until he leans over his boot. There’s an urge to close his eyes, to look away, but he doesn’t – not even after Troy has broken their held gaze.

He can feel the press of fingers against his boots. He can’t see Troy’s tongue on the leather but he knows when it happens, when the back of his head starts to move.

This is really happening.

_Holy shit_.

He lets Troy set the pace, lets him decide where to place his tongue and where not – whether to do one boot or both. He’s slow and painstaking about it, going as far as he can without shifting his body. He does both boots and there’s dust on his lips when he rises to his feet. Nick knows his eyes are wide, that surprise is etched into every crevice of his features. He knows that surprise must grow as Troy steps closer, invading his personal space.

They’re so close that Nick can feel his breath against his skin. So close that Nick can see his pores. But he isn’t watching for long – the moment Troy leans in, pressing their lips together, is the moment they snap shut.

Troy’s mouth tastes like dirt and leather and Nick loses himself in that kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are appreciated. You can find me [Tumblr](https://problematiquefics.tumblr.com/).


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